


meet you at the bottom

by mojo_da_jojo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cunnilingus, D/s (mild), Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, First Time, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, I have no excuse for this, Morning Sex, Nipple Play, Panty Kink (mild), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Spoilers up to 118, Travis and Laura have ruined my LIFE, demisexual fjord, write Jester chubby you COWARDS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojo_da_jojo/pseuds/mojo_da_jojo
Summary: "Fjord," she says, "do you maybe want to sleep with me tonight?"All of his thought processes come to a screeching, grinding halt. "Uh," he says eloquently.Not like that,he chides himself,she doesn't mean- he thinks of the way she'd leaned against him in Caleb's dome, her arm slinging over his waist in sleep, platonic in intent and yet so intimate at the same time. He thinks of falling asleep next to her in a lovely soft bed, her warmth pressed up against the long line of his body. Comforting."I mean, like, in the sexy way," Jester continues, wiggling her eyebrows.
Relationships: Fjord/Jester Lavorre
Comments: 21
Kudos: 247





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> -emerges from six months of hiatus to write smut for the wrong fandom- I blame the Baileyhams and their stupidly-good chemistry, okay?
> 
> Title from "Swim" by IDER, which is just -chef's kiss- PEAK fjorester mood.

"Fjord," Jester sighs.

She sounds so lost to it, overwhelmed already, even though all Fjord's done is put his mouth to her neck, spreading light, barely-there kisses along her jaw, her throat, the soft place under her ear. Jester's fingers clutch at his hair, sending little shocks of heat down his spine. He nibbles, just barely, at the place where her neck meets her shoulder, mindful that his tusks don't mar the smooth blue of her skin. His hands rest easy in the dip of her waist, careful not to wander further.

"Ooooh, Fjord," she breathes, shuddering. She's so _sensitive,_ making little whimpering sounds whenever his lips touch her. He supposes, with her level of experience, that everything must feel like so much all at once - it makes something proud and primal stir in his gut, that no one has ever put their mouth to her like this, heard the sounds she makes.

 _Slow,_ he thinks. _Slow._

This thing between them is still so tenuous and unspoken, fragile in its newness. They've shared nothing more than a few kisses here and there, a head leaned on Fjord's shoulder, horns butted fondly against his jaw. Fjord is content with whatever Jester will allow him, honored by the trust she places in his weather-worn sailor's hands. For all his put-on confidence with Avantika, he doesn't have as much experience as perhaps the rest of the Mighty Nein have assumed. Certainly, he thinks, not with someone who he cares about as deeply as Jester.

Tonight, though - tonight Caleb had conjured the Tower again, and Jester had sweetly invited Fjord into her conjured sitting room for a cup of hot chocolate, and Fjord had been determined to be a gentleman, hands to himself -

\- until Jester had slid neatly into his lap in the cozy armchair they now both occupy, and dragged his mouth to hers, sticky with chocolate and the sweetness of marshmallow on her lips, until they'd broken apart for air.

Desire has always been a nebulous thing for Fjord. There's been very few people in his life whom he's looked at and thought, _yes, I want them_ \- it takes something shared between them, some sort of emotional bond. He'd thought, for a short while, he'd found it with Avantika - shared ambition, someone who understood the strange power he wielded and the way it made him feel - but it pales in comparison to the way he feels for Jester, his friend, his most trusted companion, his - 

\- well. He isn't sure what to call her, just yet, but _love_ seems too simple a term.

Now he nuzzles along the neckline of her dress, traces the line of her collarbone with his mouth, and thinks maybe, he never really understood what desire was at all.

"Fjord." The sound of his name in her mouth, _like that,_ sends an involuntary rumble through his chest, his hands tightening a fraction on her waist. _Slow,_ he reminds himself.

"Fjord," she says again, and this time it's accompanied by a purposeful tug on his hair - away, not closer, and he jerks up, startled, his head knocking into her horn.

"Sorry," he says, automatically, even as she giggles.

"Careful, silly," she says affectionately, rubbing at his scalp where they'd collided. Her weight is solid in his lap, her stocking-clad knees out to the side as she sits on his thighs sidesaddle. There's the barest amount of tightness in his trousers, the beginnings of stirring interest, though Jester's weight rests far enough back that she isn't in danger of rubbing up against anything.

Yet, his hindbrain supplies.

He looks up at her, just a hair taller than him from the way she sits in his lap. Her lips are kiss-swollen, berry-purple, and he thinks, _I did that._

"Fjord," she says, "do you maybe want to sleep with me tonight?"

All of his thought processes come to a screeching, grinding halt. "Uh," he says eloquently. _Not like that,_ he chides himself, _she doesn't mean_ \- he thinks of the way she'd leaned against him in Caleb's dome, her arm slinging over his waist in sleep, platonic in intent and yet so intimate at the same time. He thinks of falling asleep next to her in a lovely soft bed, her warmth pressed up against the long line of his body. Comforting. 

"I mean, like, in the sexy way," Jester continues, wiggling her eyebrows, her voice taking on that low, suggestive tone she uses to talk about _hrm-hrm-hrm_ and his brain stops again.

"We don't have to if you don't want to!" she assures him. Maybe she can feel the way his pulse ratchets up from where her hand rests still on his chest; maybe she feels the tension that freezes him in place and misinterprets it as a rejection.

"I, uh," he says, mentally kicking himself. _Smooth, sailor._ "I... want that," he forces himself to continue. "With you."

She frowns at him, her lovely face furrowed at the brow. "Are you sure? Because it kiiiinda seems like you're saying one thing but maybe meaning another."

"I mean it," Fjord tells her, "I want you." It's true, in a way he's never meant it before, when he's said it to others.

"...But...?" Jester presses. 

Fjord forces himself to think, to boil down the various thoughts of _panic_ and also _victory_ and _pride_ into actual words. "Do you think it's... a little fast?"

Jester grins. Shrugs. "Says who?"

"I don't know," Fjord says. "...Proprietry?"

"Who cares about that?" she huffs. "I want to. If you want to... that's enough, for me."

"You've never," Fjord says.

"Nope," Jester agrees. "I still want to, though. I don't need to, you know. _Take it slow,_ or whatever. I just want you."

Fjord stills the nervous circles his hands are still making on her waist. Thinks. 

"I think... I _do_ want to take it slow," he says, finally. "With you, I - I want to... savor it. Let it... I don't know, simmer."

The thing is, Fjord _likes_ what they have. It's like he'd told Beau, when she'd asked him - this thing between himself and Jester has been growing naturally, from the moment they'd met in Port Demali to now. A seed planted, putting down roots. The new growth of Jester's obvious crush on him, her smut-novel-idea of romance blossoming into something more real. Something strong. What they have is lovely and sturdy like Caduceus' tree atop the Xhorhaus, beginning to bear fruit. Fjord doesn't want to pluck its blossoms so soon. He wants to appreciate its beauty for what it is, now.

"Okay," Jester says, though she sounds a little confused, and disappointed. She twitches a little on his lap, like she's thinking of leaving.

"That's not a no," he says, catching her hands before she can slide away. "It's a... yes, with conditions."

The grin returns to Jester's face, her eyes and cheeks dimpling."You don't want to go 'all the way?'" she asks suggestively.

He laughs. Smiles. "Right," he says, charmed and a little relieved at how she makes it all seem so simple. "I'd like to... explore, with you," he says. "If that's all right."

"Do you want to make out some more, but maybe naked this time?" Jester asks, as easy and straightforward as when he'd asked, _can I kiss you?_

Fjord can't help the widening of his grin. "Sure," he says. 

His heart feels lighter than it has in a long time. She brings that out in him.

Jester jumps to her feet, a bundle of nervous and excited energy. She drags him up by the hand, and he staggers to his feet, drawn in by her wake. There's a non-zero amount of stumbling and giggling as they maneuver through the studio Caleb had created for her and into her bedroom. Fjord has seen this, briefly, when they toured the Nascent Tower as a group the first time, though he pays little attention to the painstaking detail with which it had been crafted.

It's hard to focus on things like interior design when Jester is already gleefully stripping off her clothes in front of him.

"Wait," he says, his brain catching up with the rest of him. 

She turns in a showy little circle, presenting her back and her tail, glancing coyly over one shoulder. "Want to unwrap me yourself?" she says, eyebrows wiggling ostentatiously.

"Yes," Fjord says honestly.

There's a pink sash around the waist of her dress, neatly tying together the lacing that makes room for her tail. Fjord has had many a wandering thought about the bow of it, and how it frames her ass. His hands move to the sash of their own accord, freeing the lacing and widening the opening around her tail. On impulse, he catches the spade of her tail as it whips by, presses a kiss to it.

Jester snickers. "Ticklish?" he asks.

"Not really," she answers. "You're just cute."

Fjord can feel the way his face flushes ruddy-brown at that. "I aim to please, ma'am," he says, a touch of Vandran's accent creeping through. _No,_ he thinks, _not here._ He clears his throat.

"Will you..." he starts, but she's already turning back around, grasping the hem of the dress and shucking it unceremoniously over her head. Underneath, the thermal undershirt she wears combined with the skintight patterned stockings leave little to the imagination. He traces she round shape of her hips, hands drawing up from her thighs to her ribcage, and stops. Waiting.

"Go ahead," she says, and given permission, he cups the undersides of her breasts through her shirt. She gives a gusty little sigh, leaning towards him. The weight and warmth catch him a little off guard, and he wraps one arm around her waist for balance, brushing the thumb of his other hand over where he can feel her nipple pebbled under the cloth.

"Yes, Fjord," she encourages, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him down to her. Her lips are still plump from their earlier kisses, and he licks in with more intent this time, still careful of his tusks.

Her mouth opens easily against his, a warm slide. Her breath still tastes like chocolate. Since growing his tusks out, he's had to change up the way he kisses, he'd discovered with Avantika. Less tongue, more lip. Jester doesn't seem to mind, darting her own tongue out to taste him. He groans. 

Her right hand slides down to his chest, mirroring how he's touching her. He'd foregone his coat and armor when he'd come to bid her goodnight, left only in his shirt, trousers, and boots. He chuckles at the way she unashamedly feels him up, flexing a little when she traces down to his abdomen. 

"Very nice," Jester says, approvingly and not without humor. He grins.

"Can I take this off?" she asks, tugging at the hem.

"Of course," he says, stepping back a little to let her pull it from his trousers. It pulls him away from her breasts, which is a shame.

She's too short to get it all the way over his arms, which earns a laugh from him and an impatient huff from her. Shirt discarded, he reaches for her again, but she steps back out of his grasp and onto the bed, stripping her undershirt and shimmying out of her stockings in a matter of seconds.

Jester pats the bed invitingly, but Fjord is frozen at the foot of it. He's not sure why he's suprised at her frilly, girlish underthings - it's _Jester,_ after all - but he finds himself transfixed by the sight of her. Pink ribbons stand out stark against the freckled blue of her skin. The smallclothes - _panties,_ his hindbrain supplies helpfully - have tiny bows at the hips, decorative rather than functional like the bow of her sash. Had she put these on in anticipation of what she'd asked him in here to do? Or is this what she wears every day under her armor and travel gear? Knowing Jester, he wouldn't put it past her to be the latter.

She wriggles a bit under his scrutiny, sucking in her tummy. "Don't," he says. "You're beautiful."

She _is._ The fat of her belly pinches and rolls where she lays, half-curled up to watch him. There's strong muscle underneath, he knows, but she looks so _soft,_ from the dimpling of her thighs to the roundness of her face, changed by the strange magic of Aeor but still so fond, so familiar. 

"Will you come here?" she asks quietly, and for the first time she actually sounds shy. 

Fjord thinks of how much courage it must have taken for her to invite him here, to open herself to him, vulnerable and hopeful. He thinks of trying to do the same himself, and knows that he couldn't have. He knows for all her boldness, all her courage, she is still just a girl half-naked in front of the boy she likes for the first time, exposed and curious and nervous.

"Anything you want," he says hoarsely, caught off guard by the crack of his own voice. He walks around the bed, stops to toe off his boots and socks and to hide the moment he needs to collect himself. He sits at the edge of the bed first, swinging his legs up to lay next to her. He wants, in the deepest, most animal pit of himself, to drape himself over her and _take._

He wants even more to keep her safe, and comfortable, and happy.

He props himself up on an elbow instead, reaching out to trace along her waist, her belly. She has her share of scars, like all the Mighty Nein. None of them, he knows, were as life-threatening and some of the ones that mark his own body, not least of which still stands out shiny and new, from where the automaton's lance had pierced his body.

He's never been self-conscious about his scars until now, half-bare before her.

He distracts himself with the dark blue freckles that dot her skin, ducking down to kiss a few on her shoulders until she pulls him towards her to kiss his mouth. Caught between wanting to kiss her and not wanting to overwhelm her, he pulls her atop him rather than roll towards her, setting her weight over his stomach. Her thighs bracket his waist. He can feel the heat of her pressed against his belly, above where he wants it most. 

"Can I?" he asks instead, tracing the soft part of her chest where her collarbone gives way to soft flesh. 

Her hands grip his in lieu of an answer, and guide them to her breasts as she bends down to kiss him again.

His mouth collides with hers on a groan, distracted by the plush feel of her breasts in his hands, with nothing but a scant layer of impractical silk between them. He doesn't miss the tiny whimpers she makes as he gently toys with a nipple. The silk is soft and smooth; her skin is softer as he dares to push a hand up inside, skin-to-skin.

"Yes," she gasps. 

He slides a hand around to her back, and is momentarily stumped by the lack of a clasp. She giggles, sits back up for a moment to display the well-hidden clasp in front, shadowed by the overhang of her breasts. She slides it free, shrugs the lingerie over her shoulders. Naked save for the frilly panties, she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

She catches him looking, shimmies side-to-side so her breasts wiggle. He snorts.

"Fjooooooooord," she says, sing-song. "Are you a _tits man_?"

He grins despite what he knows is a visible flush. "Hard not to be, with a view like that," he says.

She snickers.

If there was any hesitation left in him, it flees at the sound of her laugh, the joy in her voice, the confirmation that she wants this, wants _him._ It's a heady thing, to be wanted, especially by this incredible, beautiful, compassionate woman on top of him.

He leans forward to taste her smile. Drags lower, pressing just the barest hint of tusks to the place near her throat that made her shudder before. Guides his hands around her hips. Lifts her up to taste her breasts, the firm peak of her nipple. 

He darts his tongue out just to hear her gasp. Presses wet, sucking kisses around the pebbled flesh. Ignores the weight of his cock in his trousers in favor of prying as many sounds out of her as he can.

"Ooooo-ooooooh," she moans when he switches to the other breast, pinches his fingers around the first. "You can - harder," she says, and he obliges, tweaking and twisting rather than pinching. The squeal it earns him is delectable. Impish, he abandons her breast with one hand to tickle at her armpit.

"Fjord!" she squeals sharply, smacking his hand. He laughs, a full-bellied thing that shakes her on top of him.

He never knew this could be so _fun._

"I love you," he says, so full of emotion that he can't _not_ say it. 

It is this, of all things, that makes her blush, splotchy purple spots appearing across her face and chest. "Yeah?" she says, softly.

"It's okay," he says. "I just... I do, Jester, I love you." He hopes she can hear the honesty in his voice. "You deserve to know how loved you are."

"Oh," Jester says, her voice small. "I... wow. Um. Me... me too, I think."

Fjord's smile feels like it could split his face in half.

She squirms atop him, as if embarrassed by the attention he lavishes on her. "Fjord? Um, I know you said, you don't want to go _all the way_ ," she begins, rubbing her hands restlessly over his chest, his shoulders, his biceps. "But, um... I would really like if, maybe, um..."

His heart pounds under her hands like it hasn't since he told Uk'utoa to go fuck itself. "Anything," he says. "There's nothing I wouldn't give you."

" _Wouldyoumaybewanttoeatmeout,_ " she blurts all at once, and immediately ducks down to hide her face in his shoulder.

Fjord's cock gives a definitely interested twitch in his trousers.

"Jester," he says hoarsely, " _please_ believe me when I say I would like nothing more."

She groans into his shoulder, hips rocking minutely against him.

"How would you like me?" he asks.

She doesn't answer for a minute, then kisses his neck, right where he'd lingered at her own throat. "I, um," she says. "I always imagined, um... me on my back, and..."

"You want me between your legs?" he murmurs in her ear, letting his voice get low and rumbly. She shivers. "Want your thighs on my shoulders, your feet on my back?"

"Fjord!" she gasps, affronted. "You're _bad!_ "

He laughs into her neck. "Tell me," he says. "Tell me, and I'll do it. Anything."

"I kinda always thought you'd want to be the one bossing _me_ around," Jester says.

"I, uh," he says sheepishly. "Well, if it were the other way around, I... wouldn't mind." He pauses. _Honesty,_ he reminds himself. "More than that. I'd... really like it. You could tell me what to do. Put me right where you want me."

" _Oh,_ " she realizes. 

Fjord's face must be a _really_ unfortunate shade of brown, with his flush. He does his best to keep from hiding it from her. "You're in charge," he says. "You're the one who's never done this before."

"What if I don't... know what to do?" she says.

He shrugs. "We'll figure it out together," he reminds her.

Fjord gets his arms around her waist, tries to make it really obvious what he's about to do, to give her time to protest. When she doesn't, he rolls them to the side so he's above her, her legs still spread around his waist. She squirms.

"Your pants are still on," she says.

He shrugs. "Shall I do something about that?"

"Will you -" She stops. Starts again. "Fjord, take off your pants."

"Yes ma'am," he says. He has to kneel up to undo the ties, and there's an unfortunate and not-very-sexy amount of wiggling to get them off of him without leaving the bed. By the time he's down to his smallclothes, Jester's eyes have gone wide and dark, one hand idly playing with her own breast.

"Shit, Jester," he says. Her eyes drop to what must be an extremely noticeable bulge in his smallclothes. 

"Ohhhh, buddy," she says. "Wow."

He fidgets a bit, self-conscious. "I'd... like to leave these on, for now."

"Of course, Fjord," Jester says. "Will you come back here?"

He raises his eyebrows, but obliges. "Thought you were going to put you where you wanted me."

Unexpected, Jester fists a hand in the back of his hair and drags him down to her breast. The groan he makes is muffled but gives her pause nonetheless. "Okay?" she asks.

"Very okay," he says into her breast before getting his mouth back on her.

If it were up to him, he could lie here for hours, sucking and pinching at her nipples until she screamed. He's heard some people could come from that alone; though he doubts the truth of it, perhaps someday she'll let him try.

Maybe he _is_ a tits-man after all.

Jester doesn't let him linger there long, pushing restlessly at his head. He follows the downward direction of her hands, letting her guide him lower to kiss the softness of her belly. His hands linger at the plush curve of her thighs, feeling without pushing. 

She shimmies backwards to give him room, letting her thighs fall apart under his touch. One hard cards restlessly through his hair, the other supporting her weight. "Fjord," she says gently. "Do you want to taste me?"

He growls, goes to dive in. Her hand tightens in his hair, stopping him. The scratch and pull at his scalp is exquisite. "Yes or no," she says.

"Yes," he groans. Then, because it feels right, "please, Jester."

Her fingers relax, become an encouragement rather than a determent. Fjord hoists one thigh over his shoulder, lets it bear him down to her center. The pink silk of her panties is already beginning to soak through; she smells of the sea. He buries his face there, pants open-mouthed against her core, the heat and wet of her hidden behind silk.

"Fjord," she gasps.

He lashes his tongue out, a broad sweep over the fabric. "If these get all dirty, it's the cats that have to clean them," she protests, though she rocks her hips towards him regardless.

"I think they're a loss already," he says, unable to take his eyes off the mark his tongue had left, and the darker one from her own wetness.

"Take them off me," Jester says. 

Fjord curls his hands under the waistband, shimmies the panties down her thighs, and goes right back to where he'd been, spreading her thighs for a better look.

Down here, she is flushed purple and plump, pink near the center where her arousal is most obvious. Tiefling anatomy, it turns out, isn't all that different from anyone else he's been with, which is comforting. Her folds are blue-purple-pink, her clit prominent and half out of its hood. He can't resist parting her with his thumbs, to peek at the tight-clenched wet center of her.

He wonders how much she's done to herself, how she likes it. "Tell me," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me what to do. What you want."

She drags him up with her fingers, nails pressed into his scalp. Directs his mouth to her clit. "Right here," she says, and he opens his mouth to her.

She cries out as he brushes his tongue over her clit, wet and soft. She's so wet it makes him lightheaded with the smell of her, turned on so much just from his mouth on her breasts and his hands on her skin. He drinks her down like the first sip of fresh water after he'd drowned, a dizzying need simmering under his skin. He lets his mouth fall open, careful that his tusks don't catch anything sensitive, and lets her rock her hips up into his tongue, hands tight to his head.

He suckles there at her clit for what could be hours, lost in the sensation of giving her pleasure. She whimpers when he traces the tip of his tongue across her, but its the outright moans she makes when he sucks that egg him on, drive her higher. Her thigh weighs heavily on his shoulder, trapping him down. He keeps one hand on her other leg to keep her from smothering him, though he could hardly complain if she did. 

Her moans sharpen into high-pitched cries as he sucks, her hips writhing as if she can't decide whether to press into him or pull away. He backs off, gives her the softness of his lower lip instead, awed at how pink-purple her clit has become, swollen with need.

"Fjord," she gasps, "don't stop."

He brushes the hand not holding her leg through the wetness of her folds, pressing his thumb just below her entrance. A question, despite his occupied mouth.

" _Yes,_ " she nearly shouts, hips straining. She's stronger than him, he knows, but he resists her, bearing down on her thighs; despite what he said about her telling him what to do, he's determined to do this part slowly. He tests the give of her with his thumb first, groaning around her clit as her entrance flutters around the pad of it up to the first knuckle. She's _soaked_ , somehow softer, more relaxed than he'd expected. He retreats, comes back with his middle finger instead, sinking into her.

The hot wet clench of her around his finger makes him ache. His cock is an insistent pressure between his legs, crushed against the mattress yet still trapped in his smalls. He's so hard it hurts, yet he can't spare a hand for himself, not with the way Jester is drawing him in and crying out her pleasure. He goes back to the long, sucking kisses she seems to like so much, interchanged with broad strokes of his tongue. If before he thought she smelled of the sea, it is nothing compared to the taste of her. Salt and musk, sweat and desire.

"More," Jester pants.

Fjord breaks away to breathe. "More of my mouth?" he asks. "Or my fingers?" He crooks his finger inside her, a gesture that has her hips shoving down onto his face again.

"Fingers," Jester demands. 

Fjord is helpless but to obey, sinking a second finger into her. The clench of her walls around him is tight, so tight - he's drooling now, mixing in with the wetness of her. Both Jester's hands come down onto his head and hold tight, holding him still as she rides his tongue. He listens to the rhythm of her body, the signals she's giving him, pressing in deep with his fingers and rubbing inside her. 

Her cries become shrieks.

"I - I," she says, voice breaking.

And then she's coming, clutched tight around his fingers, her legs locked around him with the harsh clench of her muscles. He rides her through it, sucking at her clit, rewarded with another shout and the viscous drip of her wet into his hand. He doesn't let up even as her hips slow, gentling his mouth while pressing harder with his fingers. 

"Ohhh- _ooooooooohhhhh,_ " she cries as she comes again, thrusting her hips down onto his fingers, thighs trembling. He can barely move his hand from how tightly she grips him, going still as she comes down. He breaks away from her clit, gasping, and pants into her thigh.

"Fjord," she breathes, "I could - don't stop, I could - one more, please -"

He groans. Crooks his fingers just to feel her twitch.

" _Yes,_ " she shrieks, "give me - give me another, I want -"

The whine as he pulls his hand away is replaced by an outright scream as he comes back with three fingers, her cunt so wet it's barely a stretch. Belatedly, he hopes the rooms are soundproof. He kisses her clit, pink and throbbing, a tiny heartbeat under his tongue. "One more," he agrees, pressing carefully with his lips, mindful of her sensitivity. 

Jester's hands fly to her breasts, pinching at her own nipples. Fjord laves wetly over her clit and _sucks._

The wetness of her becomes a gush as she comes a third time, dripping harshly into his palm. Her thighs close around his ears; he can still hear her scream, the helpless gasps that cut off her cries as she comes and comes and comes.

When it's over, he can still breathe. Mostly.

Jester's thighs are shaking as they slide from his shoulders. He can hear her breath coming in great gasps above him as he lets his head fall to her belly, finally reaching down to get a hand into his smalls.

His cock is so hard it almost hurts to touch, in the best way. He shoves his smalls down and out of the way, nearly whimpering with how good it feels to wrap his hand around his cock and stroke. Jester moans when she realizes what he's doing, clutches feebly at his shoulders. "C'mere," she says, but is able to do little more than tug him halfway up her body.

She looks a mess, fucked out and loose-limbed, sex-flushed from head to toe. Her tail smacks him in the hip as it flicks once, then comes to rest at her side, sated. She tilts her hips up to get a thigh between his legs, giving him the firm-soft muscle of her thigh to rut against.

"Jess," he gasps into her shoulder, gut tensing. "Jester."

"Yes," she murmurs. One hand cards up to his neck, stroking the bristly hairs there. The other drops to his ass.

"Ah -"

"I have you," she says, guiding him as he fucks into his hand, ruts against her leg. "You can come, Fjord, you can come."

"Yes," he says, and he's gone. He barely resists biting into her breast as he comes, lightning sensation pouring out of him in hot-hot pulses as he stripes her thigh and hip. He thinks he's making some sort of sound; he isn't sure, deafened by the roar of his blood and the need pulsing in his cock. He fists his hand around the head, coaxing the last spurts onto her belly, cock twitching with the rabbit-quick beat of his heart. 

He tries not to collapse onto her. He mostly fails.

Everything is still and soft for a long time, both of them sweaty and exhausted. Fjord might drift off to sleep for a bit, because he wakes to her wriggling under him, trying to worm her arm out from beneath his shoulder.

"Fjord," she complains, "my hand is asleep and we're a mess."

That shocks him to his senses, as he realizes belatedly that they're stuck together with sweat and come. "Ah," he says, tilting his hips away. He reaches down for his discarded shirt, waves a hand to float a trickle of water from the pitcher on her nightstand to wet it. 

Jester's nose wrinkles as he cleans his spend from her. "Fjoooooord," she whines. "That's _gross._ "

"The cats will wash it," he says.

She smacks him lightly with her tail. "That's mean to the cats!"

Fjord looks pointedly down at the bedsheets that they thoroughly wrecked together, the horrendous wet spot they've created.

"Okay, okay, okay," Jester says sheepishly. "That one's on me."

Fjord takes his makeshift towel to her thighs, next, and she hisses as he trails it up to clean between her legs. He keeps his touch gentle and light, mindful of her sensitivity. 

When he's reasonably sure they're as clean as they're going to be, he tosses the shirt back over the side of the bed, reaching for his smalls and trousers. Jester pouts as he puts them back on, but relents when he climbs back in bed next to her.

She turns sleepily to curl up in the curve of his arm. Her smile is worth more than any treasure he'd seen on the open sea. Fjord could drown in it, if she'd let him.

"I love you, too," she says, and he breathes again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fjoooooord,” says a sleepy, sing-song voice behind him. “Are you _touching yourself_ in my bed, Fjord?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, apparently, a ton of you asked for a part two where they Do the Do
> 
> This, uh, is not that. But here, have some fluffy morning sex?

Fjord has never felt so comfortable in his life.

He drifts into wakefulness like a tide coming in. Slow. Easy. The bed is cloud-soft, the covers a warm cocoon like a bubble shielding him from the outside world. His limbs feel relaxed and heavy, like one of the sand-stuffed bags Beau likes to punch. 

He’d turned in the night, Jester’s weight spooned up against his back. Her arm is flung over his waist; he can feel the soft warmth of her breasts against his skin, a tiny point of cool wetness where her mouth is smashed against his shoulder in sleep. It’s adorable, if a little gross.

Her knees are fitted up behind his, the tops of her feet pressed into his calves. He’s got a little bit of morning wood, just a half-chub really, but it doesn’t feel urgent or like he wants to do anything about it just now. The morning isn’t going anywhere, and he’d rather doze like this, warm and safe and held. 

The next time he wakes, it’s because his blanket has gone mysteriously missing. He gropes around in the dark until he finds it, tucked under Jester’s thigh as she’d stolen it all for herself. He tugs it back around himself. Jester grumbles in her sleep, shuffling back towards his warmth, and as she does, her knee slots between his own and rubs snugly against his balls. 

Fjord isn’t quite able to stifle the punched-out gasp that leaves him, his heart rate ratcheting up like a drumbeat. Jester hadn’t bothered to put any clothes back on, but Fjord’s self-consciousness still gets the better of him at times, so the contact isn’t much, just a hint of warmth and pressure stifled by his trousers and smalls. He could easily move away if he wanted, disentangle himself from Jester and sneak to the washroom to rub one out like he’s done countless times before, rooming with Caduceus or even Molly, back in the day.

He could. But he thinks of the sounds Jester had made for him, last night, and the taste of her coming on his tongue, and finds that he doesn’t want to go anywhere.

The thought thrills him, and feels a little silly, like he’s some young stripling getting away with groping a boob for the first time. But if there’s anything he’s learned from Jester, it’s that nothing is so silly that’s it’s worth shaming yourself over.

So rather than panic or flee, he lets himself think about it - the way her nipples had pebbled in his hands, become swollen in his mouth. The sweet clench of her cunt around his fingers, and the promise of how it might feel around his cock. The helpless cry she’d made as he sucked on her clit.

His cock plumps in his trousers, and he shifts a hand down to adjust himself, trying not to wake Jester. He thinks about how he’d ridden her thigh, too wound up to do more, and how she’d told him to come - given him _permission_ \- how if he shifted just so, he might feel her leg pressing up against his balls, or maybe even further back -

“Fjoooooord,” says a sleepy, sing-song voice behind him. “Are you _touching yourself_ in my bed, Fjord?”

Jester doesn’t sound angry or offended - quite the opposite, like she’s discovered something delightful and unexpected. Fjord tamps down his knee-jerk impulse to defend himself.

“Yeah,” he breathes instead, like a dare, rubbing his palm up-and-down over his cock, through his trousers.

“What were you thinking about?” Jester asks, spooning up tighter behind him. Her hand slides easy, gentle, along the jut of his hip bone and the softer flesh of his belly. Not insistent, just present. He sees her tail flick lazily in the corner of his eye.

“You,” Fjord admits without shame. “Last night.”

“Mmmm,” she agrees sleepily. “Last night was _really good,_ Fjord. _You_ were really good.”

It’s absurd how such a simple statement makes something warm and pleased unfurl in his chest, like a cat gone belly-up in a sunbeam. He groans. It would be so easy to slip a hand in his smalls and stroke himself properly, but something in him wants to wait, wants to be directed.

It feels strange, to be the little spoon like this, to be the one being held; strange and a bit vulnerable, but this is _Jester_ behind him, who always has his back, who has saved his life more times than he can count. A wave of emotion sweeps over him as it hits him - the depth of what he feels for her, the trust he places willingly in her hands. 

“Oh,” she says slowly, “you really like that? Being told how good you are?”

“Yes,” he chokes, cut off on a gasp as her hand slides higher, rubbing soft and slow against his nipple. Just like he’d done to her, he realizes headily.

“Sit up,” Jester says suddenly, and he scrambles to obey before he can even really process that it’s a suggestion, not an order. He can feel himself blushing as he sees her realize his eagerness. 

She smiles, a sweet, sugary thing like the pastries she loves. She’s still as naked as the day she was born, though she seems less bashful of it now than she had when she’d barred herself to him in the first place. She shimmies back against the headboard of the (frankly ridiculous) four-poster bed that mimics the one in her room at the Lavish Chateau.

“Will you come here?” she asks, and spreads her legs. 

Fjord’s mouth is watering before he even gets to his knees, but she shakes her head. “Not like that,” she clarifies, though her cheeks have purpled a bit with the suggestion of his mouth on her. “With your back to me. Like we were just now.”

“I, uh,” he starts, but complies, feeling a little foolish as he lays backwards between her legs. “This would be a new one, for me.”

“Me, too,” Jester whispers conspiratorially, giggling a little at herself. 

It _does_ present Fjord the opportunity to pillow his head on her breasts, which is pretty wonderful, and if he cranes his neck he can just kiss the soft underside of her chin. She giggles again, leaning down to meet him, her kiss upside-down and tasting of morning breath. It’s a little gross, but strangely charming - two things he’s learned go hand-in-hand with Jester.

Her arms are strong but gentle when they come up around his waist, like she’s afraid she’ll spook him. Strange, he thinks, that she’s the virgin and yet it’s him who has been the most skittish. “Can I take these off?” she asks, playing at the waist of his trousers, already unlaced where he hadn’t bothered to tie them last night.

“Be my guest,” he says hoarsely, and helps her shimmy them down over his hips along with his smalls. His cock bounces free, heavy and already beading at the tip.

“Oof,” Jester says, which, okay, is maybe not the first thing a guy wants to hear when his dick comes out, though he knows she (probably) doesn’t mean anything by it.

“It’s not purple or anything, but it does the job,” he teases dryly, remembering her comment about Molly.

“I’ve seen it before!” she protests, and he can feel her face heating where it presses into the side of his neck. “In the baths, I just... it’s, well, bigger. Than I, um, remembered.”

“Thank you...?” Fjord says, half-laughing.

“It’s a _really_ nice dick, Fjord,” she assures him. “I just, um. Well, I sort of thought a lot about getting to this part, and, well, here we are, and -“

“You’re not under any obligation to do anything you don’t want, Jester,” he reminds her. 

“Obviously,” she says in her most dramatic voice. “Just, um. If I do anything stupid, just don’t laugh, okay?”

Fjord catches her hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips to lay a kiss on her knuckles. “I like when you make me laugh, Jester,” he says honestly, and she bends to kiss him again.

“Well, in that case,” she says, “I’ve always wanted to do this -“

-and then her hand is around his dick, waving it like a wand as she yells, “ _skinky-doodyyyyy!_ ”

Fjord’s groan at finally being touched is cut off by the shocked laughter that bursts out of him unbidden, joined by Jester’s giggle in his ear. “Wow,” she says, petting lightly, “your skin is _really_ soft here.”

“Thanks,” Fjord says breathlessly, “I have a pretty extensive skin-care regimen, you know - moisturizer and everything -“

“Fjord, I really hope you’re joking,” Jester says, very matter-of-fact for someone who has her hand on someone’s dick for the first time. “You shouldn’t over-moisturize your crotch, you could get jock-itch.”

Fjord is doing his best to stay coherent, but it’s hard to concentrate with the way Jester’s fingers are trailing maddeningly down his shaft with not nearly enough pressure. “Yes, Jester, I’m joking,” he says. “I don’t - ohhh, yes, that’s - you could, tighter, you could -“

Jesters hand closes around him obligingly, a bit too dry at first but made easier by the precome steadily leaking from the head of his cock. It’s a bit embarrassing, how wet and easy he already is for her - he’s hardly a lad getting his first handie, far from it. It’s not as if Jester cares how eager he is, though - rather, she seems to be encouraging it, given how she coos in his ear, whispers faint praise as his hips twitch up, finding a rhythm in the steady stroke of her hand.

“Oh, I like this,” she says, almost to herself - like she’s surprised, like she hadn’t expected it. “I can feel your heartbeat, here,” and gives him a squeeze. “You’re so good, Fjord, so good for me - help me, show me how you like it -“

He’s already panting with her praise, whining as he joins his hand with hers, tightening her grip a fraction and showing her how to twist her hand at the head how he does to himself. Her other hand slides round and round his chest, tracing the shape of his pectorals, pinching and pulling at his nipples. He’s alarmingly close - quickens his fist over hers, aiding the pump of their combined grip with the helpless thrust of his hips, fucking into their hands. 

“Fjord,” she says, and she _has_ to know by now what it does to him, hearing his name in her mouth like that, rough and suggestive with arousal, “I want to - can I leave a mark, here?” She nuzzles into the join of his neck and shoulder, lips soft. 

“Yes,” he gasps, and she opens her mouth against his skin, sucking gently, a nibble here and there. Her grip is more sure on him now, and his hand falls away as she takes over, her other hand pinching relentlessly at his nipple - close, close -

“ _Harder,_ ” he begs as his balls start to draw up - he means to encourage her to suck harder at where her mouth is latched onto him, but instead she opens her mouth and _bites_.

Fjord’s muscles seize all at once as he comes like a punch to the gut, fucking her fist with erratic, involuntary thrusts. A helpless groan falls from his throat as Jester squeezes the last spurts from his cock, the hand on his chest gentling into petting at his side. He sags against her and weakly pushes her hand away when it becomes too much, and she looks at the mess he’s made of his own stomach with what might be curiosity.

He stares at her hand, at the bit of sticky white coating her fingers, and thinks, _I did that. _And then, an afterthought: _she did that.___

____

____

He’s always been a bit stupid, post-orgasm.

__He’s so out of it that he fails to realize she’s brought her hand to her mouth until it’s too late, and his warning falls flat. Her face scrunches up as she tastes him, tongue sticking out immediately._ _

__“ _Gross,_ ” she says, and lunges for the glass of water she keeps by her bedside._ _

__Fjord chuckles weakly, his cock going soft and warmth still pooled in his gut. “Yeah, I’ve heard some people like the taste but I’ve never actually met anyone that does,” he says. “You didn’t have to... you don’t have to, if you don’t want.”_ _

__Jester finishes rinsing her mouth and wrinkles her nose. “I mean, the taste is _super_ gross, but I don’t think your dick is gross,” she assures him. “And I’m pret-ty sure the Traveler could teach me a spell or something to make your dick taste like, cinnamon or something.”_ _

__Fjord’s come-drunk brain shorts out a little at the implications of that._ _

__Jester wriggles a little behind him, and Fjord shuffles around so he can get on his front and kiss her, slow and deep. He palms her thigh, hefting her closer to him, and she moans into his mouth. “Let me return the favor?” he murmurs. He trails kisses down her neck, lets his tongue slide down wet over her nipple._ _

__“Oh,” she gasps, “I would... really like that, but.... mmmm, I came a _lot_ last night, it’s kinda tender down there.”_ _

__A rumble breaks unbidden through Fjord’s chest, self-satisfied. “I’ll go easy,” he says. “If you want. Just an offer.”_ _

__He presses one more kiss to her nipple, drawing back in preparation for her to tap out, and is surprising when she tightens her legs around his waist. “Maybe juuuuust one,” she says, like a kid justifying stealing a cookie from the jar. “Not your mouth, though, that’s... a lot.”_ _

__Fjord grins and rolls onto his back, hefting her atop him with his back to the headboard. “Just say the word and I’ll stop,” he promises, and slides his hand down to where she’s hottest._ _

__Jester shrieks and squirms at the first touch of his callused fingers to her clit, swollen and blood-hot. He licks into her mouth apologetically, gentling his touch and making sure his fingers are nice and coated with her slick. “I have you,” he hushes her, just petting her clit with tiny, feather-light touches until she pants for more._ _

__It’s quiet, soft, without the urgency or energy of last night. Fjord slides two fingers into her, easy as you please, and strokes wet fingertips around her clit until she comes with a sigh, shivering and shaking in his arms._ _

__He tips them back and pulls the covers back up around them, sated. He’s just drifting off for another round of sleep when he hears Jester say, “I want...”_ _

__Whatever she wants gets muffled into his chest. “Hmm?”_ _

__“Waffles,” she murmurs, and promptly falls asleep._ _

__Fjord’s mouth is full of laughter, his heart is full of love, and he thinks he could live like this forever._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there’s anyone left on the Tumblr hellsite, you can find me there too @mojo-da-jojo

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this in my saved files was 'Fjorester smut because I am trash'
> 
> Travis and Laura... just... -cries in bisexual-


End file.
